2. Attend sermons three times a week.
3. Marry according to the Prophet’s revelation.
4. Don’t watch television, listen to the radio, read Outsider newspapers, or listen to secular music.
GIRLS
1. Don’t leave Red Creek unattended by a man.
2. Cover every inch of skin.
3. Don’t paint your face or adorn yourself with jewelry.
4. Don’t talk to boys who aren’t your brothers.
5. Don’t cut your hair. Hair must be worn in a braid.
6. Don’t wear red.
7. Don’t drive a vehicle.
8. Don’t meet the eyes of a patriarch.
9. Don’t question your father, mothers, or the Prophet.
10. Don’t entertain jealousy towards sisters or sister-wives.
11. Don’t seek to ease the pain of menstrual cramps.
12. Don’t love your own children more than any others.
13. Don’t tempt men with flirtatious looks.
14. Don’t prevent the birth of children with Outsider medicine.
15. Don’t keep money or buy goods without permission.
16. Don’t steal attention from your husband or father.
17. Don’t watch television, listen to the radio, read Outsider newspapers, or listen to secular music.
18. Never speak to Outsiders.
19. Never, ever complain.
“See?” Beth crowed, triumphant. “Red Creek hates us. It hates us and it’s wrong.”
Beth hung on her sister’s silence, desperate to find the smallest crack in her obedience. The slightest window.
“The Prophet says women are weaker,” Agnes said. “He says the Laws exist to protect us from ourselves.”
Beth snorted. “But what do you think? You don’t believe it, Agnes.”
For a moment, she feared Agnes wouldn’t answer.
“I think faith asks more of women,” she said at last. “I don’t always like it. Sometimes I feel life crushing me. But the Prophet has always protected us. Why would I doubt him now, only because my path is hard?”
Beth could’ve screamed.
“Agnes, you’re already in rebellion! If the Laws are so sacred, why do you break them? Why do you sneak out at night? Where do you go?”
A complicated flicker of emotions played across her sister’s face, and Beth allowed herself to hope. Agnes wasn’t lost, as her mother claimed. Nor was she the brute animal Red Creek wished her to be. Underneath it all, she watched. She saw.
“Oh, Beth,” Agnes moaned. “I have to tell you everything, because soon it will be your cross to bear. If I tell you where I go, will you swear to stay faithful? To try?”
Beth’s heart thundered in her ears. She sensed a filament stretched between them, a fragile line of trust. Her sister would reveal her secret—then Beth would marshal all her love and ask her to run.
Pinky fingers clasped. “Tell me,” she begged. “Please don’t shut me out.”
A scream rent the air, waking the kids and churning the trailer into panic.
Ezekiel was having a night terror.
No, she thought when Agnes shot out of bed. Not now, Ezekiel. Not now.
Jealousy cramped in her belly as she sank back against her pillow.
“Ezekiel,” Agnes whispered. “You don’t have to worry. Everything’s just as it should be. The Prophet is in his watchtower. Nothing is wrong.”
The passion that had swept Beth moments ago cooled like the embers of a dying fire, leaving only the bitter scent of despair behind. Listening, she realized how futile it would be to try to convince her faithful sister to run. Agnes might see more than she told, but she still belonged to Red Creek, body and soul.
Everything’s just as it should be. Like a lion claims its prey, the Prophet’s Laws had claimed her.
A tear slipped down the side of Beth’s nose.
Agnes would be married. And Beth wasn’t brave enough to run alone. She’d never see the Outside. Never dress in flattering Outsider fashions or style her hair as she liked. She had no destiny. No adventure would light her dull, toilsome life.
I still have Cory. That’s something.
Her sister came back to bed, whispering her name.
But Beth, feeling worse than she’d ever felt—surely worse than anyone had ever felt—feigned sleep.
“Another time, then,” Agnes said.
She spoke as if the filament between them hadn’t already snapped.
As if the time left to them could do any good.
8
AGNES
Treat not with Outsiders, for God hath set them in a slippery place.
—PROPHET JEREMIAH ROLLINS
Matthew Jameson agreed to wait six weeks to marry Agnes.
“He prayed on it, and God wants to help our family.” Father warned, “Whatever happens, don’t waste this gift of time.”
By mid-August, Agnes knew, she must have her affairs in order. But time flew, and though she prayed constantly, God never revealed what to do about Ezekiel. Worse, her only backup plan—Beth, who she now suspected was in full-fledged rebellion—was giving her the coldest of cold shoulders, icing her out at the worst possible time.
Agnes’s patience for her sister dried up like a riverbed in summer. How dare Beth let her bad attitude get in the way of providing for the kids? Couldn’t she see that Sam, the twins, and Ezekiel needed her more? Needed them both?
Beth will come around. She must.
And, she told herself, a tinge frantically, there was still time for a miracle.
God could cure Ezekiel. And when He finally did, she wouldn’t have to keep secrets anymore or lie to Father. She could finally be free of this stifling, suffocating mask.
She could finally be free.
Two weeks before the wedding date, Agnes snuck out of the house to meet the Outsider’s son. If Beth heard her creep out of bed, she kept her peace. But Agnes believed her sister slept. Beth’s rib cage lifted rhythmically beneath the sheet.
Agnes had planned to take Father’s gun, but in the end, she felt too cowed to break into his shed and brought only the empty cooler and a flashlight with her across the meadow.
The moon was swathed in smoke-black clouds, and she struggled not to trip making her way downhill. She stole looks over her shoulder, half expecting to see Father following. If he found out she was meeting a boy so soon before her marriage, he’d kill her.
Agnes waited a long time among the gravestones. Stars were trapped behind clouds, and she couldn’t count a single one.
Maybe the Outsider won’t come.
If he didn’t, was it a sign?
She spotted a shadow making its way uphill. A boy with a cooler in hand.
A rush of nerves, and her hands balled into fists. She could still run away, even scream.
But because of Ezekiel, she knew she wouldn’t.
The boy raised his arm, a tentative greeting. He took great strides, drawing close enough that she could see him clearly.
The Outsider was big. Broad across the chest and surprisingly tall. She fought the instinct to run. His skin wasn’t as dark as Matilda’s but still duskier than anyone’s in Red Creek. He wore Outsider clothing—jeans and a T-shirt—and gooseflesh covered his bare arms. A heavy-looking backpack hung from his shoulder. He took in the stones, the meadow, and the silver trailer up above through the lenses of thin-framed glasses.